Adventuring through twisted time.

Raffaele cried out in his sleep. Another fever dream seemed to be burning through him from the inside and as all the other times before in the last couple of weeks, he could not wake himself. It had been the same nightmare almost every day. He’d be walking through hell among the souls of the people he’d killed when his thirst for blood was all that controlled him. They screamed and cried out for a help that wouldn’t come as they begged him to stop while they were reliving their deaths by his very hand and he had to watch. 

There was so much blood. He begged for their forgiveness which was something he had no right to ask of them and they never gave it as their wailings rang throughout the nightmarish caverns of hell. Raffaele stumbled through the darkness completely drenched in blood. He could never outrun the dead as a booming voice rang through his head, always requesting one thing of him in order to gain some absolution; To find the god-killer. 

The terror always ended the same. Raffaele would come to a dead end, spinning around to face the mortals who he’d slain mercilessly. They would stand there silently in their hatred for him while someone masked moved through the crowd and lifted his sword, swinging to remove Raffaele’s head. 

The sanguine woke finally, seeing a few members of his staff around him with worried expressions. He was latched onto the arm of his cook and sprawled on the floor, completely tangled in his bedding. “Signore.” Raffale looked to the older man who smelled of fresh herbs and spoke softly as concern filled his tired eyes. “You must go to him.”

The hours passed until the sun had finally set and Raffaele mounted his horse. His chef, Vincenzo, gave him a reassuring smile for the journey that was ahead in which he would track down the last known whereabouts of his former comrade. This was something more easily said than done when it came to finding a Gypsy who was as flighty as the wind. Raffaele looked down towards the man who’d become almost like a father to him. His counsel was always a blessing he didn’t believe he deserved. The small staff of his manor did not know what he truly was except for Vincenzo who believed that Raffaele was not bound for hell and his soul would be saved. “God is on your side,” the older man said, making the sanguine scoff and shake his head with a smirk. “You doubt this?”

Raffaele didn’t immediately answer because it would only turn into a long discussion between the two. Instead, he only smiled to his mentor and then took the reins of his horse. “Why in the world do I have a chef?” Really the food the cook prepared everyday was given to his workers that lived on the grounds because it would never be able to fill Raffaele’s hunger, but none of them knew that. It was a question that was not meant to be answered as Vincenzo only smiled back at Raffaele before tapping the horse on the rear to trot off into the night.

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"This city is a dark and lawless place."

"And we are its children." 

Is it odd for a for gypsy to get tired of turning in the wind? "Take. The. Shot." Not knowing where you'll go. Who you'll meet. What trouble one might stir? Jeovani at first thought his listless desires were from traveling alone. He'd grown used to companions and the comradery that bloomed forth from it. Though once he joined a caravan he soon realized how tired he was still. 

It never weighed him down. The terrible tether of gravity never came to tie him to the ground.

But he was tired of turning in The Wind."Take. The. Shot." Maybe his age was getting to him, and idea or thought quickly debunked once his caravan found a place all their own. All caravans from across the world in fact. They still had Nowhere. Hidden and safe. But Nowhere was isolated and detached from the workings of the world. Unaffected by Father Time and his wife Mother Nature. 

The Court of Miracles. Grimy and unappealing to most. But to the gyspsies and refugees amount them it was home."Take it already! The shot!" They'd benefit from trying to fix things to which they did try but with the little resources and no help from the king, there wasn't much they could do. 


This, of course, is exactly where one would find Vega. Standing in some bar with all the bets stacked against him. Pot balanced on his head as he challenges the blindfolded drunk to shoot it. This of course is all a ploy. Rigged in Vega's favor. The flintlock barrels the bullet out and the whole pub goes silent. 

The very next sound is that of the pot shattering atop his head. 

He laughs to break the nervous silence and soon is joined by the rest of the patrons and workers. Music quickly refilled the atmosphere and The Gypsy collected his winnings. He didn't stay in the pub long after. He had to pay his fellow gypsy who'd shot him his portion of the winning. And clearly, if he did that in front of everyone they'd have his head. 

His head which was already wanted for a similar "19 Crimes". Though impersonation of an Egyptian might take a few tries and a hell of a lot of help. The night was beautiful as he waited for his friend. Cimetière du Père-Lachaise, was certainly a creepy and bizarre place to meet unless you were a Gypsy aware of Paris' underground. The loud sound of cement being dragged across a surface pulled his attention from the sky and the cool night breeze. 

"You're late but I forgive you"

"You hear about this Godkiller running about." 

He launched a pouch into the air for the man, Niko to catch.  "I haven't. " Niko caught the pouch with ease. He didn't even count it before thanking Vega. He didn't have to, he was honest when it came to his own kind or those he cared about. Niko hummed and twisted his mouth, almost surprised the words in The Wind hadn't reached Vega's ears yet. 

He stayed a moment longer telling him what he had heard which wasn't much of anything at all. And so in the end, of the brief talk, Vega stayed behind as Niko left. Denying his offer to go drink with him. Tonight he just wanted peace and figured among the dead here would probably be best as most everyone would be too superstitious to join or bother him and his fellow Gypsies would leave him alone. 

He slid the large cement cover to the burial vault back in its place. With The Winds help. Covering the entrance to the True Court of Miracles. He took a breath and clicked his tongue as he wiped his hands together. "If you're here, for my head I'll have to take yours." 

And so, before turning to see who it was approaching. The one he could sense through The Wind. He drew his sword and aimed it the person's neck. Squinting his eyes to see their features passed their silhouette in the dark. 

Should've known better than to expect a peaceful night.

Raffaele smirked in the shadows that covered his identity as the sword moved against his skin, just below his chin. "That is hardly fair. I demand to at least be armed as well. Where's your sense of chivalry? Are you not a man of honor, signore?" He took a few steps to the side with his arms slightly raised in surrender as the weapon remained poised. The moonlight trickled through the nearby trees and across their branches and leaves, casting bits of light over his form. He slowly reached for the hilt of his sword and drew it from its sheath. The weapon brushed down along the length of his opponent's slowly, making the metals sing through the quiet graveyard. "Shall we then?"

The two figures looked as if they were dancing as they expertly moved about. Raffaele didn't go easy as he knew his opponent wouldn't either. Moments like these were what made him feel alive again. Side stepping a blow, Raffaele pulled a dagger from his belt and spun, ending with both at a stalemate; He with the dagger to the man's side and his opponent's sword at his neck once again. 

Raffaele looked to the man's eyes and smiled at the familiar intensity. "I see you haven't gotten rusty. Honestly, I'm a little surprised," he teased, spinning the dagger in his hand and putting it back in its home. "I half expected you to call on the Wind and cheat like you always do." It was a mix of emotions seeing his old friend again. In the time they had met and spent together, the two had become the closest of friends over the years, but it was overshadowed by the one thing that had changed everything and because of it, they'd drifted apart and went their separate ways. They'd sworn to never see one another again.

The sanguine reached for the man's hand in proper greeting and then pulled him in for a hug. Raffaele didn't have much in the way of friends and the loss of Vega had hurt him deeply. Despite the accord they'd agreed on years prior, he was somewhat glad to have broken it despite the circumstances that had him hunting down the Court of Miracles with the hope of finding his old companion which had been no easy task.

He could see the question behind Vega's eyes even if he didn't immediately voice it. He shifted his weight and cleared his throat, looking to the sealed vault for a fleeting moment and back to the Gypsy as he sheathed his sword. "Walk with me." What they needed to speak about was for their ears only and the dead around them would forever keep. 

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